


Thunder chasing the wind

by Builder



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting, that's all, that's all i do, you know this by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 00:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Spencer has a migraine on a case.  It's all a little much.  He doesn't like feeling this fragile.





	Thunder chasing the wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MollyTyler6](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=MollyTyler6).



> Thank you so much for the prompt (though I think you deactivated your account, so I hope you're ok). 
> 
> I'm going to limit the number of Spencer migraine fics I do in the future (though I love them) because they're getting a tad repetitive. If you have prompts, continue to send them in, but I'd appreciate more specific details of what you're looking for. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @builder051

 

 

Spencer puts his elbows on the table and lowers his forehead into his hands.  His head has been aching for hours, and Excedrin’s doing fuck-all to help.  He wishes he had something stronger, but it’s probably too late at this point anyway.  He’d be better off wishing for something to put him out of his misery. 

 

“Spence?”  JJ asks.

 

“I’m listening,” Spencer mumbles.  He had been listening.  He’s not anymore, but he can fudge it. 

 

“No, it’s…”  He can practically hear JJ’s sad smile and soft head shake.  “You alright?” 

 

Spencer’s not, and he knows it.  He knows JJ knows it, too, but she still asks.  So he still answers.  “Yeah, I’m good.”  He would’ve saved the breath and nodded, but that would’ve hurt too much. 

 

“You want to take a break for a minute?  Have some coffee?”

 

There’s a 50-50 chance the dose of caffeine will either perk him up or make him barf, but pausing the perusal of the case files seems worth it.  Spencer can’t concentrate, and he won’t be able to pretend much longer.  And he feels like he might barf anyway.  “Ok,” he says.  Spencer slides his fingers through his hair until they’re intertwined behind his head.

 

JJ’s chair scrapes back from the table, and the office door opens and closes.  It sounds different from the doors back at Quantico.  Spencer’s used to field work and being in a different environment every other week, but today the foreignness is magnified, and it’s making him more uncomfortable.

 

When the door re-opens, the scent of coffee comes as an assault on Spencer’s sinuses.  It’s of the slightly burnt breakroom variety, and he imagines the flavor will be close to charcoal. 

 

“I didn’t know if you wanted sugar,” JJ says, setting paper packets on the table beside Spencer’s cup. 

 

“I’m ok,” Spencer lies again.  He lets go of his head to wrap his hands around the mug.  He breathes in the steam coming off the hot beverage.  It does nothing for his head, but he feels his shoulders slump as the tightness in his chest ebbs slightly. 

 

“Spence,” JJ sighs.  She pulls out the chair beside his, and Spencer does his best not to flinch as the feet scrape across the linoleum floor.  “I know you’re not feeling well.”  She places a hand on his shoulder.  “You don’t have to work like this.”

 

Her words are kind, but Spencer can barely take the sound of her voice.  The quiet tone comes through as a hiss that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  The light touch on his arm may as well be from a jagged boulder.  He winces and pulls away, sloshing his coffee, which is beginning to smell more like motor oil.  “S-sorry,” Spencer breathes. 

 

“It’s ok,” JJ says, lifting her hand.  “What do you want me to do?”

 

Spencer’s throat is closing up.  He can barely breathe, barely swallow.  He can taste the coffee he hasn’t drunk yet.  Or maybe it’s coffee he drank last week.  His head hurts so badly that it’s reaching for his stomach, catching it on a fishing line and slowly pulling it inside out.  Sparks shoot up Spencer’s jaw and make his ears pop.  Equilibrium is totally gone.  He presses his sweaty palms to the table as he tries not to throw up. 

 

Spencer knows the color’s drained from his face.  JJ can see he’s struggling.  “Spencer?” she prompts again.  There’s no way He’s going to open his mouth to reply though.  Sweat breaks out over his upper lip.  He fights a gag and nearly rests his chin against his chest. 

 

The sound of a metal trash can being placed at his feet is almost deafening.  Spencer draws in a sharp, involuntary breath and chokes on the sick starting to spill into his mouth.  The noise and motion of his own cough brings an axe down on the back of his head. 

 

“I know you’re hurting,” JJ soothes.  “Just let it out, ok?” 

 

Spencer’s head, throat, and stomach compete for what can hurt the most.  The sound of his elevated heartbeat echoing in his ears drowns out everything else.  Bright spots of aura mix with blackness at the edges of his vision as he watches undigested breakfast and stomach acid hit the bottom of the trash can. 

 

“Ok,” JJ whispers.  She grips Spencer’s hand.  He wants to tell her to stop, that it hurts, but he’s holding hers just as tightly.  And he’s afraid of what might happen if he lets go. 

 

Spencer’s body finishes heaving, but bile still drips off his lips.  His eyes and nose are leaking too.  He drags his sleeve shakily over his face, but it feels like sandpaper and leaves his skin smarting. 

 

“Breathe,” JJ tells him, and Spencer does.  He can feel liquid quivering at the back of his throat, but he doesn’t dare try to hack it out for fear his head will explode. 

 

“Good.”  JJ moves the trashcan gingerly, and crouches in its place in front of Spencer’s knees.  “Do you think you can try some water?”  She smooths her thumb over the back of his hand. 

 

Spencer doesn’t think he can try anything.  A gun to the head honestly sounds more appealing.  He moves his lips a millimeter apart, maybe to relay that to JJ, or maybe just to take a breath that doesn’t smell like sickness. 

 

“I…want to go home,” he whispers.  Spencer barely knows what he’s saying or why he’s saying it, but the words set off tears that seem to be running right down from his aching brain. 

 

“Oh, Spence.”  JJ clasps both hands around his.  “We’ll get you home soon.”


End file.
